fic meme: round 2

[overstreets]

Round 1 of our fic meme is a month shy of being a year old, so we're opening up a fresh post for all your Sam/Kurt and Chris/Chord prompts.

Please note that this would be a great place to drop your unfilled prompts from the Kummer Summer Exchange. We'd hate to see all those amazing prompts go to waste!

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i want a scar that looks just like you, 4/?

[anonymous]

In highschool, Kurt would write snippets of his own plays and long winding monologues as an outlet for everything.

Growing up in Tennessee was hard on all of them - he, Sam, Finn and even Puck couldn’t stand Nashville the handful of times he visited them there. Kurt had it hardest, of course: out and proud and a devastatingly strange being to the entirety of the South. After him it was Sam, always the one to press ice-packs against Kurt’s bruised cheeks with one hand and squeeze Kurt’s with the other. Sam cried a lot in front of Kurt in highschool - because Kurt got hurt, because Kurt was called something vulgar, because Kurt was his best friend; because Sam saw what the world would do to him if he were honest with it, too.

Once, Kurt wrote about that. A highschool superstar’s progression into loneliness, into their reality, living in the closet. It was the only thing he wrote that he’d ever shown to Sam, hopefully, both of them sat upright and tense on his bedspread - Kurt was nervous to actually acknowledge what they both knew Sam was in any form and Sam was nervous when Kurt asked him to read anything at all, had only shrugged and shyly mumbled, “It might take a while but I’ll look at it for you, of course, yeah.”

Looking back Kurt wonders if he was a little sadistic in highschool. If he wanted Sam to experience all the pain he’d been able to escape in five-hundred words of closeted despair, if when Sam’s face collapsed into grief halfway through he’d felt some kind of satisfaction. If he’d liked making Sam cry.

-

Sue knew from the start.

They didn’t act any differently, hardly even at all. The most significant change was how Sam would hold his hand sometimes in the pillow fort between their two beds after had been moved out of his apartment into the hotel with the others, rooming with Sam with Finn and Puck across the hall. Sometimes at night after they brushed their teeth Sam would stay and look at Kurt in the bathroom mirror while he moisturized and give him goodnight kisses on the softened skin of his forehead, his temple, the backs of his hands. Sometimes Sam would watch him too intently while he folded their clothes, while he ate, while he did anything at all. They still hadn’t actually talked about it.

Sue tutted about them in rehearsal, called Kurt ‘Yoko-Homo’, said they should do a better job paying attention to her advice. Then they played one of Sam’s songs and she called all of them talentless; heartless ear-murderers; the reason her internal organs were all currently trying to escape her body.

“And when I say practice singing I don’t mean on each others faces,” she snapped afterwards.